


A Daringly Cut Gown

by SecondStarOnTheLeft



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: F/M, Kink Meme, Plot What Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-31
Updated: 2012-07-31
Packaged: 2017-11-11 03:29:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/474017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SecondStarOnTheLeft/pseuds/SecondStarOnTheLeft
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Of course, with it cut to show off so much skin, there’s no way for her to wear a shift under it, and so it is that Willas finds her wearing just her smallclothes and stockings and slippers, her hair hanging down undressed over her breasts. He shuts the door behind him and then simply looks at her with the filthiest smile on his face.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Daringly Cut Gown

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a picture prompt in round 9 of the asoiafkinkmeme, but I can't link it for you because I can't link in notes. I fail. I apologise.

Her gown for tonight is rather more daring than anything she’s ever worn before, but Willas’ fascination with kissing her shoulders and her back have prompted her to be rather more daring than she ever dreamed of being.

It is cut straight across her shoulders, exposing what she knows her mother would have said is too much skin, and low in the back, leaving her bare to the top of her stays. Willas will love it, Lady Olenna will disapprove and, with any luck, the mark of Willas’ teeth that is plainly visible on her left shoulder blade will finally convince that vile Tarly girl to leave him alone, because he is _Sansa’s._

Of course, with it cut to show off so much skin, there’s no way for her to wear a shift under it, and so it is that Willas finds her wearing just her smallclothes and stockings and slippers, her hair hanging down undressed over her breasts. He shuts the door behind him and then simply looks at her with the _filthiest_ smile on his face.

“Oh, little wolf,” he laughs, “you are wanton, waiting for me like this.”

She rolls her eyes and turns for her dressing table, intending to dress her hair before she calls Marian to help her into her gown, but he catches her wrist and somehow manages to tug her down into his lap, her back to his chest, in his armchair by the fire.

“We don’t have time,” she tells him, knocking aside his hands when he reaches for the drawstring on her smallclothes. “Willas-“

“Hush you,” he says, nuzzling through her hair until he can get his lips at her neck, kissing that spot just under her ear that leaves her utterly helpless while his hands come up to cup her breasts, to weigh them in his palms and to tease her nipples with his thumbs. “We have plenty of time.”

She can’t seem to catch her breath, which is a small price to pay for the gentle pressure of Willas’ thumbs and forefingers rolling over her nipples and his teeth scraping across the point of her shoulder. She reaches back one hand to take hold of his hair, grabs the arm of the chair in the other, needing something to ground herself because he’s utterly relentless, and the things Willas Tyrell doesn’t know how to do to her body aren’t worth knowing.

“Plenty of time,” he breathes again, licking along her jaw and shifting before she can turn her head far enough to kiss him. “We’re hosting the party, my love – they cannot begin without us.”

A good thing, too, because he’s in the sort of mood that she senses might involve a very, very long delay of their arrival in the great hall.

“Do you know,” he murmurs, carefully sucking a bruise over her pulse, “it’s almost as though you _wish_ to show off the marks I’m careless enough to leave on your lovely body with that gown.”

“I can’t imagine why you’d think that,” she says, unable to even be embarrassed by how breathy and high-pitched her voice is, how desperate. “Willas-“

“Hush now,” he murmurs, smiling into the curve of her shoulder as he smoothes a palm over her breast, slight callouses catching on her nipple, and trails the other hand down over her stomach, pausing to trace the tip of a finger around her navel before pulling open the drawstring of her smallclothes.

She makes no move to stop him this time.

“Filthy wanton,” he chuckles approvingly when his hand slips under the linen to find her already damp. “Do you know, Sansa, you make it almost too easy for me.”

If he didn’t freely admit to finding her embarrassingly attractive, so much so that when he sets eyes on her unexpectedly he often has to think of some horrible thing before he’s fit for company again, she might take offence at his words, but instead she focuses on not floating away when he ghosts two fingers over her lips, barely touching her until she whimpers-

Then he slips those same two fingers between her lips and dips deep into her, drawing a gasp that’s equal parts astonishment and need from her.

He withdraws his hand completely then, holding it up so they can see the wetness on his fingers glisten in the firelight.

“You taste sublime, little wolf, did you know that?” he says, his voice low and absolutely lethal. “I can’t get enough of the taste of your cunt. So sweet, Sansa – would you like to try?”

She opens her mouth to respond, but never manages to get the words out – instead, she finds herself licking her arousal off his fingers, curling her tongue around his knuckles and sucking until his hips buck up under hers and he moans.

“Enough of that,” he says decisively, his voice rougher than it was before she started, and his hand is back under her smallclothes before she can protest. Gods, the way he combs through the untidy curls covering her mound and then-

“Oh, _Willas,”_ she gasps, rolling her hips up to his hand and rolling her head back over his shoulder. “Please, please-“

She curls her feet around his ankles to give herself some sort of leverage to meet the rapid thrust of his fingers, the timing matched to the rasp of his breath. He has his chin hooked over her shoulder, and she can feel every breath gusting across her bare nipple and it’s _maddening._

“That’s it,” he croons, “there’s a girl, that’s it, so wet, Sansa, so wet for me – just for me, isn’t it? Isn’t it, little wolf?”

He hides his jealousy, his possessiveness, well enough, but he can’t quite keep it back when he’s touching her like this, and somehow it just thrills her even more.

“All for you,” she assures him, voice so faint that he laughs.

He doesn’t speak anymore after that, too busy making more marks behind her ear, on the corner of her jaw, on her collarbone, nudging her face around so he can kiss her until she’s moaning into his mouth.

His fingers don’t let up for a second, curling into her again and again, thumb stroking relentlessly over her nub until she’s fucking up against his hand and he’s laughing into her mouth, tongue twisting obscenely with hers.

“Are you going to come for me?” he asks, lips moving over hers in a way that makes her thrash in his arms. “Howl for me, little wolf – let go, Sansa.”

She does both, crying out as her release thunders through her, leaving her a trembling, shuddering wreck slumped in his arms, her smallclothes soaked through and utterly ruined.

“You’ll need to change your smallclothes,” he notes, fingers still tracing slowly, gently, over her sex. “But we still have a little time, and I have no real desire to leave this chair quite yet.”

She finds his eyes and looks right at him as she rocks her hips back against his, presses her backside hard down onto his cock, and when he moans in that delicious way that makes the short hairs on the back of her neck stand up, she decides that they can well afford to be late.


End file.
